


wicked games

by alamorn



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: F/M, PWP, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 06:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12206202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: Attolia never opened presents from her husband in public. It was too much of a risk. They were always either obscene, or had belonged to someone from her court he’d taken offense to, and she’d tired of calming those tempers.This one was obscene.





	wicked games

Attolia never opened presents from her husband in public. It was too much of a risk. They were always either obscene, or had belonged to someone from her court he’d taken offense to, and she’d tired of calming those tempers.

This one was obscene. A delicately shaped phallus, rested on a pile of leather. “And what is this for?” she asked, and he grinned.

“Me,” he said. “It’s a rather selfish gift, if I’m being honest.”

It took her a moment to work out his meaning. A moment, and unspooling the leather to reveal a harness, and an open ring set at the front. Her eyebrows went up. “Ah,” she said. Then, “Haven’t I caused you enough damage?” She glanced meaningfully at his right wrist, and the wooden hand that capped it.

She’d wondered at the hand this morning — it was rare for him to wear it now, rather than the infinitely more useful hook. She understood now. Behaving, so that she’d be more inclined to go along with his schemes.

“Do I damage you,” he asked, working the hand off and laying it aside on his desk, “when I enter you?”

She didn’t answer. He’d brought her off three times last night, and his ego didn’t need feeding. Instead, she ran her hand over the phallus. It was a dense wood, so finely sanded it was silky. She glanced up and saw that Eugenides was watching her, eyes dark.

“Should I expect, tomorrow, that everyone in the country will know about this?” she asked. “Or did you use some modicum of discretion?”

“I’m always discrete,” he protested, and lounged across the bed. “And it’s Eddisian made.” His grin made her want to tug his hair. Just enough to hurt, a gentle reprimand. She refrained — he would only take it as encouragement.

“So everyone in two countries, then,” she said. His grin only widened.

“Will you have to punish me, then?” he asked, and it was such a line that it surprised a laugh out of her. His grin turned to a smile, his eyes crinkled and warm. She sat next to him on the bed and pushed his hair from his forehead, lay a kiss on his brow.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m afraid I will.”

He stretched out, doing his best to look appealing. It would have been more effective if she hadn’t already had a plan that would torment him more.

“Can I wear this flat?” she asked. “So that it hangs?”

His eyes darkened further, until the pupil had consumed the iris. “Under your clothes?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I’m sure we can figure it out,” he said.

“Well,” she said, “I’m sure I can. Your assistance will not be required.”

 

As it turned out, there was no easy way to wear a cock all day. She’d had to put it on herself, after her attendants had dressed her, and it was difficult to fasten the harness correctly while wearing her skirts. She’d left it a little loose so she could let it dangle, rather than be held flat against her mound, but her skirts were not so thick that it didn’t show if she walked too fast.

And sitting in it was near torture. It was unforgivingly hard between her thighs. She hadn’t been so aware of how she held each part of her body since she first took the throne. She kept catching Eugenides glancing at her crotch, then glancing quickly away. He got more snappish as the day went on, and had to keep crossing and uncrossing his legs.

It made something tighten in her belly, seeing him so affected. _She_ remained as cool as ever. She’d always been better at controlling herself than Gen had. By the time the day was over, however, she was damp between the thighs and as eager as he was.

He didn’t bother with the charade of going to his own room before sneaking to hers, just caught her arm in his and walked in through the door. That, more than anything, told her she’d won. He clung so to his little fictions.

She dismissed her servants immediately, and he drew her into a hot kiss before the door had closed behind them. He locked the door without breaking the kiss. When she was breathless, she pushed him away with a single hand on his chest. She went over to the bed, and offered him her back.

He lay a kiss on her shoulder, then started to undo her dress. She’d chosen one of the simpler ones this morning, one that a one-handed man could open easily. When she was bare before him, she turned and sank back onto the bed. He began to undress himself as she tightened the straps of the harness so the cock rose up proudly.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said, staring.

“I know,” she said. “Come. Take your gift.”

“Ah,” he said. “I have to work for it.”

“If I had to do all the work, it would be a poor excuse for a gift,” she agreed.

He laughed and straddled her, hovering over the cock. His own stood straight against his belly, much larger than the slim thing he’d given her. He pressed his fingers against her mouth and she opened her lips and swirled her tongue around them. When they were thoroughly dampened, he removed them and reached behind him, doing _something_ that first made the phallus shift against her clit, and then something that made him let out a shuddering sigh.

Then he sank down. He went easy enough that she had a moment of — not fear, but confusion. Had he been fucked before? Had he taken that soldier of his to bed? Or had he just prepared for this, by himself, thinking of her?

“My Queen,” he said shakily, when he bottomed out and was resting in her lap. “Irene.”

She brushed his curls from his forehead and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. “Gen,” she said. “My King. Ride me.”

She slapped his flank, more noise than sting, and he thrust against her, where his cock was caught between their bellies, and let out a long groan. And then he began to shift himself up and down. He rode her with no more skill than he rode a horse, but she was not near as like to throw and trample him, so she bit her tongue and watched the flush spread down from his face to his neck and chest.

When the muscles in his thighs were jumping and twitching, and his face was twisted in frustration, she reached between them and wrapped her hand around his cock. She didn’t move it, just ringed her fingers so that he thrust through them with every bounce on her cock. He huffed a laugh.

“You’re cruel.”

“Yes,” she agreed, looking at where his hand should have been. “But you asked.”

He groaned dramatically, and shifted his angle so he pushed more solidly against her hand, and then he gasped and gasped again, and spilled. He leaned his head against her shoulder for a moment, trembling and panting, before he pushed himself off her and knelt between her knees and set his clever tongue to work.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http://www.alamorn.tumblr.com)


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